LIVIN' LARGE OFT-INJURED KEVIN MITCHELL LOVES TOYS AND CLUBHOUSE HIGH JINKS, BUT THE FORMER MVP IS ALSO A GUARDIAN ANGEL--AND MORE

Our headliner comes to us from San Diego. And New York, SanDiego again, and San Francisco; Seattle, Cincinnati and Fukuoka,Japan; Boston, Cincinnati again, and Cleveland, where his mostrecent gig ended abruptly after only nine hits, not includingthe one upside a teammate's head for messing with the clubhousestereo. Trust us on this one, folks: Kevin Mitchell is themaster of the limited engagement.

You know him for his gold tooth, his silver tongue and his BlueCross & Blue Shield. We wouldn't want to say the guy isinjury-prone, but he once strained his rib muscles whilevomiting. Another time he showed up late for spring trainingbecause he needed emergency dental work after munching on amicrowaved chocolate doughnut.

He is the Wile E. Coyote of baseball. He keeps falling offcliffs, getting conked on the head with anvils, opening packagesthat explode and, inevitably, coming back for more. Just beforethe Indians designated him for assignment on May 24--a move thatled to his being released on June 3--Mitchell, 35, cracked,"Either trade me someplace where I can play or send me home. I'drather be playing paintball in the desert [than sitting on thebench]."

Our man--all 5'11" and 255 pounds of him--is undeterred fromlivin' large. He wears $1,800 crocodile-skin combat boots, whichpresumably will come in handy should we ever have to send troopsto Rodeo Drive. He has a fleet of land and sea vehicles,including one customized truck in which the voice-activatedstereo system cost $19,000. When he wants to hear music, hesays, "Wake up, bitch," and a sexy voice coos, "Good morning."

Like a lot of people, Mitchell has pen pals. It's just that someof his pals are in a pen called Folsom. He's no stranger to thelaw himself. How many players can quote the California penal code?

No wonder one of his former coaches, current New York Metsmanager Bobby Valentine, called him "the most misunderstood manin baseball." Mitchell's bat we know about. He won the 1989National League MVP award with such a ferocious season (.291average with 47 homers and 125 RBIs) that he drew moreintentional walks that year (32) than any other righthandedhitter in history. Since he turned 30, in '92, he has batted.308 in 1,258 major league at bats. But who knew he was aclubhouse cutup? Toy collector? Generous humanitarian? Areal-life guardian angel? Yes, he's all of that, too.

So come, zing along with Mitch. You may have seen him onLetterman. Or maybe it was Cops. Presenting, for yourentertainment, a very funny man: Kevin Darnell Mitchell.

A guy walks into a bar. O.K., it's Mitchell--on the same nighthe had begged out of a game with the Reds in 1994 because of"battle fatigue." According to Mitchell, a woman throws a glassacross the bar, accidentally smacking him above the right eye,opening a bloody gash and causing the eye to swell. "I'm notgoing out anymore," he said. "Or until they start using plasticcups."

Things happen to Kevin Mitchell. During a game with the Reds in1994, he asked the trainer for eyewash. Inexplicably, someonehad put rubbing alcohol in the eyewash bottle. Mitchell sufferedburns on his eye. "I was right behind him in line," teammate HalMorris says. "It's always Kevin."

Also that season Mitchell was beaned flush on the C of hisCincinnati batting helmet by a fastball from the Padres' KerryTaylor. The ball knocked the helmet from Mitchell's head.Remarkably the pitch caused no damage to him. But when he fellto the ground, he landed on the helmet and strained muscles inhis neck.

The man is a crash-test dummy. He has played 1,172 major leaguegames, but never more than 68 in a row. He vowed in '94 to play150 games, which prompted Chicago Cubs announcer Steve Stone tocrack that Mitchell must be planning on playing winter ball."Tell Steve Stone to stop clowning me," Mitchell replied. "Hewears makeup. I don't." It took Mitchell three years, includingthe one spent in Japan, to reach 150. In fact, he has played atleast 150 games in a season only once in his career--the year hewas voted MVP.

Mitchell is the only man in baseball history to win that awardand play for five teams before his 32nd birthday. Baggage?Ringling Bros. travels with less. Reds general manager JimBowden commissioned a Hooveresque 150-page dossier on Mitchellbefore Cincinnati, Team Number 5, traded closer Norm Charlton toget him from the Seattle Mariners on Nov. 17, 1992. "We did [thebackground check] because the guy had a bad public image,"Bowden says. "What we found was a guy who could drive in 100runs and who always played hard. The thing I had heard was thathe didn't want to play. Really, it's just the opposite."

In '93 and '94 with the Reds, Mitchell missed games because of(deep breath here) a broken sesamoid bone in his left foot, astrained right hamstring, a sore neck, a tight lower back, atorn left shoulder muscle, a strained rib cage, a sprained leftknee, a burned right eye, a sprained left wrist, a strained hipflexor, a chipped bone in his left ankle and bruised ribs.Nothing, though, captured the essence of Mitchell like his last10 days in his second tour with the Reds in '96, a veritableCliffs Notes to his epic career. The epilogue:

Sept. 8. Missed game because of sore right hip.

Sept. 9. Returned to lineup but left six innings later withtwisted left ankle.

Sept. 10. Missed game because of that twisted ankle.

Sept. 11. Spent game sleeping on training table because of sorethroat and fever.

Sept. 12-14. Stayed at his home near San Diego recovering fromhis illness.

Sept. 15. Showed up at Reds' clubhouse in San Diego wearingslippers and pajama pants. Sent back home to bed.

Sept. 16. Allowed to remain home.

Sept. 17. Failed to report for game in Pittsburgh.

Sept. 18. Failed to report again and was suspended for remainderof season.

"It isn't funny," Mitchell said about his history of injuries."I don't appreciate it at all. Believe me, I want to be thehero, in there every day hitting homers and being the guy."

Kevin Mitchell was astonished one day in Cincinnati to learnthat reserve infielder Lenny Harris would be batting fifth,behind him. "They don't want me to hit," Mitchell said of theReds. "They might as well put Daffy Duck behind me. If StevieWonder was in our clubhouse, they'd bat him behind me."

Kevin Mitchell can flat hit. He once hit a ball so hard itdented the bat and left behind an imprint of the stitches. Hehas been known to take his first swing of the day in the firstinning--no stretching, no batting practice, no scoutingreports--and hit a pea with it.

"I miss one day," Morris says, "and feel like I don't have mytiming or rhythm. He misses a bunch of days and loses nothing.It's amazing to see a guy do that."

Mitchell takes such a studious approach to hitting that he wantsto be a batting coach someday. He writes nothing down, however."Got it all up here," he says, tapping the side of his head.

Before a '94 game at Wrigley Field he found a scouting report onChicago Cubs pitcher Mike Morgan waiting for him at his locker.He picked it up and tossed it away. "Get this out of here," hesaid. "I know how Morgan pitches me." His first time up hedrilled a 3-and-1 slider to the back row of the bleachers for athree-run dinger.

"The only question," Morgan said, "was whether it was going togo into Lake Michigan."

Mitchell escaped the players' strike in '95 by grabbing a $3.9million contract from the Fukuoka Daiei Hawks. He hit the firstpitch he saw in Japan for a grand slam, which turned out to bethe highlight of the ugliest Japanese trip by an American sinceGeorge Bush had dinner there. Mitchell twisted his right knee,walked out on the team for two months over a disagreement aboutthe severity of his injury, and struggled with the country'ssmall-scale accommodations ("You roll out of bed and hit yourkneecaps on the dresser") and practice regimen ("I reallythought I was in prison--I'm not doing that Jack LaLanne stuff").

Returning Stateside last year with the Boston Red Sox, Mitchellat one point sat out 10 days with a strained right hamstring,then whacked three hits, including a two-run homer, in his firstgame back. Of course, he also reinjured his hamstring in thesame game and spent the next six weeks on the disabled list. Theportly one fit in with the Red Sox about as well as his Humveedid on Boston's streets. He sadly sent the Humvee home to SanDiego; the Sox gladly sent him back to Cincinnati.

The Indians became Team Number 9, dangling money in front ofMitchell like Krispy Kremes as incentive to stay fit enough toplay leftfield: a $500,000 salary, plus $2,000 for every plateappearance up to 100 and $3,000 for each one thereafter, plus$10,000 every month from February to May if he met his assignedweight of 240 pounds, and $15,000 a month after that for everysuccessful weigh-in. Talk about your fat contracts. Alas,Mitchell showed up at camp in Winter Haven, Fla., weighingnearly 270; became the first player unable to complete an850-yard training run since the Indians instituted it five yearsago; and, when trying to do wheelies, bent the frame of abicycle that he was supposed to ride for exercise.

When the Indians traded for outfielder David Justice a weekbefore Opening Day, Mitchell became an unhappy reserve player."My butt hurts from so much time on the bench," he said. "Idon't sit this much at home." Last month Mitchell and teammateChad Curtis argued in the clubhouse, reportedly over the musicselection on the stereo. Mitchell denies hitting Curtis, butseveral newspapers reported that he whacked Curtis with aforearm shiver, sending him into a Ping-Pong table and onto thedisabled list with a sprained thumb. Four days later the Indiansdropped Mitchell.

"I enjoyed Mitch," Cleveland general manager John Hart says."He's got a very interesting perception of the world. We justcouldn't get him enough at bats."

A nervous rookie Reds pitcher named Larry Luebbers once gave upseveral hard-hit balls to leftfield, where Mitchell had toexpend considerably more energy than he wished running themdown. Before the game, Mitchell obviously spooked the youngsterby going up to him and saying, "Hey, kid, you ever seen a GermanLuger? You will if you have me running around out there."

Kevin Mitchell likes toys. He brought a pair of night-visiongoggles into the Reds clubhouse, turned off all the lights andran around yelling, "Desert Storm!" He is the only major leaguerwho wants show-and-tell days added to the promotional calendar.Another time he brought a laser pointer to work. He delighted inannoying teammates across the clubhouse with it and then, fromthe dugout during the game, hitting a bull's-eye on a reporter'snotebook in the press box.

In recent years he has taken a liking to paintball in the desertoutside San Diego. On weekends in the off-season he has evengathered up friends who were gang members and hauled them outfor war games with paintball guns. "If I can't shoot the realones anymore, might as well use the play ones," Mitchell says.

"Kevin loves his play toys," says his girlfriend, VeronicaBustamante. "He's like a little kid that way because he likes tosee the expressions on other people's faces."

He is almost never without his cell phone and his pager, thekind that vibrates upon receiving a message. Mitchell typicallyprepares for a game by yapping on his telephone while his pagerrattles incessantly on the top shelf of his locker. Hiscourtship of Bustamante is a match made in telecommunicationsheaven; she was working as a sales executive for a pagingcompany in San Diego when Mitchell walked into the office. Thenext day he sent her flowers and asked her to lunch.

Mitchell's most difficult decision may have been deciding whichvehicle to pick her up in. Mitchell owned (another deep breathhere, please) 11 all-terrain vehicles, two dune buggies, twogo-karts, two Jet Skis, a 40-foot RV, two one-ton pickup trucks,two utility trailers, the Humvee, a Ferrari Testarossa, aPorsche, a BMW 740, a Mercedes 560 SEL, a '64 Chevy convertibleand a '75 Caprice Classic low-rider convertible. "When I wake upin the morning," he says, "I have to decide which one I want todrive. It depends how I feel. If it's a real nice day, I maytake one of the convertibles."

Most of Mitchell's vehicles--or "buckets," in Mitchspeak--arecustomized, be it with intricate paint jobs, superchargedengines or assorted gadgetry. Two of his vehicles have no doorhandles; the doors pop open only by remote control. "I've got todo something to a car," he says. "I don't care if it's a Yugo,I've got to fix it up. Put in curtains and pillows or something."

In '93 when he returned home for a series in San Diego, hepurchased $2,800 worth of tickets. He doled them out to family,friends and some especially helpful employees of the CaliforniaDepartment of Motor Vehicles. "My registrations come up duringthe season," he explained. "I don't have time to wait in line."He later was told to expect no such courtesies thereafter. "Iguess some people got in trouble," he says.

Nothing thrills him more than riding one of his all-terrainvehicles at 70 mph over desert sand dunes in the pitch-black ofa moonless night. "Stress-free," he says. How's that? "Nophones, no pagers, no nothing." That's why his outfielder'sglove is imprinted with his nickname: SAND MAN.

It turns out that Mr. Sand Man could use a wake-up call once ina while. In '93 and '94 he was fined for showing up late forwork after the All-Star break, once coming to blows with Redsmanager Davey Johnson after he finally did arrive. "He's still aboy at heart," says Johnson, who was also Mitchell's managerwith the Mets and is now the Baltimore Orioles' skipper. "Hestill loves his toys. I tell him, 'Kevin, you have the rest ofyour life to play with toys, but your baseball career only lastsso long.' What I wanted to impress upon him was, Kevin, don'tput on too much weight, because if you do, it will take a tollon your legs. Make a few sacrifices now and give yourself fouror five good years, then go play."

In the past seven years Mitchell has earned $20 million whileplaying in barely more than half of his teams' games."Remember," he says, "I own a hair salon and apartments. I savereal well, but if I want something, I'll get it."

What he's got is a deep wardrobe. Cincinnati catchers Joe Oliverand Ed Taubensee showed up one day in the clubhouse in '94wearing nearly identical outfits: black polo shirts, faded jeansand hightop white sneakers. "Them guys are goobers, man,"Mitchell said. "That would never happen with me." The next dayMitchell arrived in a shocking lime silk shirt, matching pantsand black leather ankle boots with steel rivets. No teammatestrolled in wearing the same ensemble.

Kevin Mitchell is a close friend of trouble. In 1991, whileplaying for the Giants, he left a ticket at Candlestick Park fora friend from his San Diego hood. As the man picked up histicket, he was arrested in connection with the murder of apolice officer. The man served time in prison after pleadingguilty to voluntary manslaughter and is still friends withMitchell.

"Lots of my friends who get out or need help, I'll get them abucket," Mitchell says. "If I give something to my homeboys, Idon't ask for anything in return."

Maybe Mitchell laughs so much because he has lived such a hardlife. "See this?" he says, showing the scarred underside of hisright wrist. "I got it when I was nine. My father was beating upmy mother. He jumped on her back. I took a hot skillet of greaseand threw it at him. I burned myself." His father, Earl, deniesthe incident.

Mitchell's grandmother raised him for most of his childhoodbecause, he says, "I didn't get along with my mother." Abrother, Donald, died in a gang war. Earl was a cocaine dealerwho became an addict. In 1990 Mitchell took Earl into his houseand also employed him as a custodian at his hair salon. "Then Irealized I was only supporting his habit," Mitchell says.

He came to that conclusion after his father pawned Kevin's 1986Mets world championship ring for drug money. Another time herushed to his father's aid after Earl jumped out a second-floorwindow. Earl, clad only in his underwear, begged his son, "Killme. I don't deserve to live."

According to Kevin, in '93 Earl showed up in the driveway ofKevin's house and began vomiting. Kevin threw him off hisproperty. "Don't bring that here," he said. "This is a happyhome." He didn't speak to his father for about a year, until aneighbor told him that Earl had "checked into some rehab programwith a church." Earl says he has been clean for a few years andnow works in an outreach ministry in San Diego.

When you grew up in a gang-infested neighborhood and you've beentrying to keep your father's nose clean, what could possiblyhappen on a baseball field to scare you? Mitchell was a rookiein '86 when Johnson sent him to pinch-hit with two outs in theninth inning of World Series Game 6. The Red Sox, ahead by tworuns, needed one out to win the world championship. Mitchell hadto be fetched from the clubhouse, where he had removed hisjersey in anticipation of defeat. He promptly got dressed anddropped a single into centerfield, imparting more momentum tothat improbable rally. "Damned if I was going to go down inhistory as the man who made the last out," he says.

In July 1993, a 25-year-old man named Raymond Smith was killedin an automobile accident. Mitchell had been a friend ofRaymond's mother, Judy Smith, for six years. He paid forRaymond's tombstone. Then he told Judy, "Mom, now I'm your onlyson. I will always take care of you."

Kevin Mitchell is not always funny. Not only did Smith lose heronly son that year, but she also lost her father and was in awreck that totaled her car. Following Judy's accident, inDecember, Mitchell decided she needed a large, safe car. Hebought her a new, silver Cadillac Eldorado with this salutationon the license plate: only4u7, the final digit a reference tohis Reds uniform number. "Kevin has such a gift, it's as if youcan see the light in him," Smith says. "It's hard for me to putinto words what he's meant to me. I truly believe that Kevin ismy angel, a guardian angel sent here to look after me."

When the Reds called up outfielder Steve Pegues from the minorleagues in '94, Mitchell insisted the rookie stay with him athis Cincinnati-area home. The year before, when outfielder JacobBrumfield was a rookie with the Reds, Mitchell was like a bigbrother to him, calling Brumfield's hotel room at night to checkup on him.

"Inside Kevin's got a soft heart," says Brumfield, who now playsfor the Toronto Blue Jays. "He looks after the youngerguys--giving them money, talking to them, taking them out toeat, things like that."

Former Giants general manager Al Rosen, upon trading Mitchell toSeattle in '91, two days after the outfielder was cleared in arape investigation, predicted Mitchell was destined to be theDick Allen or Bobby Bonds of his time, flitting from one club toanother. So, where to next?

Maybe another ball club will try to define Mitchell in 150 pagesor less--and decide that he and all his scars are worth thetrouble. Maybe some other general manager will dream thatMitchell can drive in 100 runs in a season, though he's donethat only once. Life has never been a sure thing for someone whoeats Vicks VapoRub because that was his grandmother's remedy forcolds, who covers his body with industrial-strength liniment forgames in inclement weather, who takes phone calls from convicts,who is always a box of Ring Dings from a trip to the disabledlist and who has been known to playfully stretch the truth. Thattime the woman heaved a glass at his eye, for instance? Someeyewitnesses provided a different version: The woman bopped himwith the glass after arguing with Mitchell.

"A lot of people have this bad image of me they get only fromthe newspaper," Mitchell says. "If I was younger, it wouldbother me. But they can say whatever they want. As long as myfriends and family know who I am, that's enough. The thing is, Iget along with everybody. I enjoy life. I enjoy meeting people."

There will be a Team Number 10 that will book his act, orMitchell will take his toys and march back to the desert in his$1,800 combat boots for good. Either way, he will be having fun.This, after all, is a man who scoffed when Reds shortstop BarryLarkin once asked him before a big game if he was feelingpressure. "Pressure," Mitchell said, "is wearing a pair ofhandcuffs."

COLOR ILLUSTRATION: ILLUSTRATIONS BY JOHN NICKLE [Drawing of Kevin Mitchell batting]COLOR ILLUSTRATION: ILLUSTRATIONS BY JOHN NICKLE We wouldn't say the guy is injury-prone, but he once strained a rib muscle while vomiting. [Drawing of Kevin Mitchell with bandage over eye about to be hit in head by baseball]COLOR ILLUSTRATION: ILLUSTRATIONS BY JOHN NICKLE Mitchell struggled big-time with the small-scale accommodations he endured during his year in Japan. [Drawing of Kevin Mitchell sitting on small bed while eating with chopsticks]COLOR ILLUSTRATION: ILLUSTRATIONS BY JOHN NICKLE He brought night-vision goggles into the Reds clubhouse, turned off all the lights and ran around yelling, "Desert Storm!" [Drawing of Kevin Mitchell wearing night-vision goggles and holding bat]COLOR ILLUSTRATION: ILLUSTRATIONS BY JOHN NICKLE "Kevin has such a gift, it's as if you can see the light in him. I believe he is a guardian angel sent here to look after me." [Drawing of Kevin Mitchell with wings and halo]

"Kevin Mitchell is so funny, he should charge a cover."JOE OLIVER, CINCINNATI REDS CATCHER

Life has never been a sure thing for someone who eats VicksVapoRub and takes calls from convicts.